One Word and One Year, by Karin Bishop

Part 2

Chapter 3: Names

“So what now?” Taylor asked, after a time.

“Well, I’m sitting here in my undies–excuse me; your undies–so what’s the next thing in your bag of tricks?”

“You’re sure?”

“Certain-sure.”

“Okay. Um … fast or slow? Deep end or wading pool? Paper or plastic?”

“Plastic, I think, please,” I said like a shopper.

She still looked at me.

Reacting to her stare, I said, “What’s that line in Four Weddings and a Funeral? ‘More than Lady Di, less than Madonna’?”

She cracked up. “God, that’s a funny line! I didn’t much like her in the movie, but it’s a good line. Never felt like she was truly into him, though.”

“At this point I’d just settle for Lady Di,” I said dryly.

“So …” Taylor waved a hand in circles, encouraging me to go on.

“So we need to face facts and be open about this. We are talking about me wearing some of your clothes, to see what it’s like, right?” She nodded. “But your sister must know that I’m a boy when you got the …” Uncertain what to call them, I gestured to my filled bra.

“We girls call ‘em boobs,” she said matter-of-factly, including me in the ‘we’.

“I know what the real ones are,” I chuckled. “But these …”

She shrugged. “Boobs. Fake boobs. Breast forms. Inserts. Cheaters. Falsies. Whatever. They’re just boobs. Anyway, forget about it.”

“Forget what?”

“Forget about my sister. She doesn’t know because I didn’t ask.”

“But she knows you got them,” I began.

“No, no; look, you don’t have a big sister. Part of my job description as a little sister is to annoy her. All sisters borrow clothes back and forth, but their personal stuff is … personal. But little sisters are always exploring, trying to find love letters or unlocked diaries. Anyway, I found those a long time ago, stuffed way in the back of her closet under old sweaters.”

“You did explore!”

She shrugged again. “It’s what little sisters do. So when I went to ask Monica if you could stay over, she was down in the family room talking with Brad. Then I got the drinks and came back up but made a quick detour and, yep, she hadn’t tossed them. Still under the sweaters and never missed. I’ve just got to ditch the box,” she said, putting it together and sticking it in a bottom drawer of her vanity. She straightened and said, “So as far as my sister’s concerned, your boobs are … your boobs.” She held both hands out, palms up, and grinned.

My boobs … my boobs … my boobs … Those two words went rattling around my brain. I had to almost shake myself.

“Okay. Um … so I’ve got a question. If we’re two girls hanging out I’d probably just wear jeans and a t-shirt or something. Sweats, maybe.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “We’re pretty casual at home. But we also try on each other’s stuff. So you’re covered either way. Tell you what; let’s find the basic ‘two girls hanging out’ clothes for you and then move on from there.”

“But if Monica sees me, won’t she know I’m wearing your clothes?”

“Yes and no. First of all, like I said, girls borrow clothes all the time. In fact, I’ve got an idea; I’ve got two tops I know she’s never seen–I just got ‘em. So I’ll put on one of them and if we see her, I’ll ask her what she thinks about the cute top that you loaned me?”

“It’s that easy?”

“Pretty much. Oh, and the other thing is that a lot of the ‘hanging out’ clothes are so generic that Mon could never tell if the jeans or skirt you were wearing was yours or mine.”

Skirt … I had to do that mental shake thing again.

She knew me too well. Grinning, she said, “Ah, I see that got your wheels turning! Okay, first things first. I think …” She walked to her bureau, glancing at her closet, as she thought. “Here.”

Tossing me a shirt and jeans from her bureau, she said, “Basic number one.”

I pulled on the jeans, which were very tight but had a little stretch to them, and was surprised at how low they were. They only came up to my hips and swooped across, inches below my belly button.

Taylor nodded. “I know. Pretty amazing, huh?”

“I guess … It’s a weird cut. Don’t know if I’d call it ‘amazing’, though.”

“Not the jeans, dummy, how you look in them! God, I’d kill for them to hang on my hips like that. You’re a natural, girlfriend! Those jeans are keepers.”

The top was a green t-shirt, but with cap sleeves and a low keyhole neckline. Taylor explained the terms of the clothing to me. It was a new experience pulling it down over my breasts–so to speak–and the bottom hung above my belly button, so I had a visible tummy. Taylor grabbed a brush and gave a few quick strokes to my hair, and then pushed me in the direction of the mirror.

The girl in the mirror was … a cute girl in the mirror. Tight green tee accenting the curve of her breasts, a slim tapering tummy, and rounded hips and shapely legs. I pivoted to look at my butt.

“Do these jeans make my butt look big?” I wondered aloud, and realized what I’d said just as Taylor burst out laughing.

“You got a tushie! That’s all you, babe!” Then she snorted and rolled her eyes. “And you are such a girl!”

I was turning from side to side, and pulled up the bottom of my tee and held it as I turned. There was no getting around it–I was curvy. I kinda-sorta knew that already, but it had never been so noticeable. And I was pointedly ignoring Taylor calling me ‘babe’ and ‘girlfriend’.

“I got a killer top for those,” she said as she flipped through hangers in her closet. “Here.” She handed me a white bit of lacy gauze.

I pulled the tee over my head, again pulling over ‘my boobs’ and discovered the white thing was a wrap top with belled three-quarters sleeves. It wrapped closed, showing just the top of the middle of my bra and I wondered how it would look–how it would feel–to have breasts swelling, to have actual cleavage.

“Yeah, that’s very cool,” Taylor approved.

We tried maybe a dozen tops and went back to the green tee. Then Taylor looked me in the eyes. “Time for an upgrade.” She handed me a hanger with a plain denim skirt.

I held her stare, laid the hanger on the bed, sat next to it and peeled off the jeans. I pulled the skirt up, zipped it, and turned it into place as I’d seen my mother do on occasion when I was younger. Taylor raised her eyebrows at that. I went to the mirror and smoothed the front of the skirt against me and turned this way and that, admiring. No doubt about it; I looked great in a skirt, I thought. I walked the length of her room, feeling the swish of material and thought, I feel great in a skirt.

Taylor just nodded, didn’t comment beyond, “Great legs” and then we went through different tops. At one point I had on the skirt and was pulling a black top over my head when there were three quick knocks at the door and Monica immediately stuck her head in the room. I had both hands in the air, half my face obscured by the top and with hair everywhere, conscious that she could see my bra, my tummy, my skirt, my legs … I froze.

Monica seemed to think nothing of it. “Hey,” she nodded to me. “Um … Tay, you guys wanna maybe get some ice cream later?”

Taylor looked at me and then her sister. “Yeah, sure, Mon. Thanks!”

Monica nodded and withdrew, but her parting words were, “Hey, cute top,” to me. She closed the door, never seeing me blush and tremble.

“See?” was all Taylor said. “Just a couple of girls hanging out. You’ll never convince her you’re a boy named Mark now.”

It was strange hearing that name and feeling somehow … disassociated from it. I pulled the top off and took the next one she handed me, a gold lamé halter. I was amazed she even had something like this; it looked like a disco throwback. I knew that she’d slipped it in among the natural fibers and everyday clothes I’d been trying, but what the heck. I wasn’t going to let her know she’d freaked me.

“I noticed you didn’t introduce us. So, Taylor, what is my name?”

“Allison.” She’d said it every bit as calmly as if she’d said ‘Mark’.

“Allison? Where the heck did you get that?”

“I was playing with Mark. I didn’t want to do something like Marsha that’s close to Mark–”

“Or make me hurt you because of ‘Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!’” I teased with the old Brady Bunch thing.

“I was thinking little kid names, you know? Like jump rope rhymes: Mark-issa, Mark-andy, Mark-allie … and the Allie part stuck so I went with that and I thought Alyssa or Alicia was too done, you know?”

“Heather, Heather, Jennifer, Jennifer,” I nodded. It was an old cartoon of an elementary school photo.

“Right. But I don’t know an Allison.”

Allison, I thought. I would be Allison? Allison …

Taylor shrugged. “And I’d call you Allie.”

I felt a strange almost-shiver of rightness. It was hard to appear casual, but I shrugged, too. “Okay. For the purposes of today’s play period, I can be Allie.”

“It’ll stick, you know!” she grinned wickedly. “Hey, do you know what your name would have been if you were born a girl?”

“No idea. It was …” I sighed. “I think it was always assumed I’d be the next jock in the family, until it was obvious I wasn’t.”

“Didn’t your mom want a girl? I mean, you do all those things with her …”

“That’s because …” That stopped me. Because … Why? I thought. “That’s because we just get along. I couldn’t be out playing football, so it just …” I frowned.

Why was I so definitely Mom’s child … was it just because we looked alike? What if I’d been athletically gifted; would that have made a difference? And if I’d been born a girl, I might still be athletically gifted, like Mackenzie Sanborn, a girl at the high school that was being courted by colleges for soccer and basketball. Or I might be the Suzie Homemaker in the apron baking a pie for my hungry jock father and brother–

Wait a minute–I already baked pies for my hungry jock father and brother. Well, I might also be … Oh God–I could have been a cheerleader! Cheering my big brother on the field …

“Earth to Allison! Earth to Allison!”

I became aware of Taylor again. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

“I was about to say ‘Earth to Mark’ pretty soon. Where did you go?” She bounced up and down waving her hands. “Wait a minute; wait a minute. Let me guess! You were flashing on your life if you’d been born a girl.”

“What are you, psychic as well as psychotic?”

She ignored my line and just grinned. “It stands to reason. I think …” She frowned and got serious. “I think you’re going to find that you’re viewing the world very differently from now on, Allie.” She looked me in the eye when she said that.

I was going to fire back a Witty Retort, but instead I nodded and said, “Provisionally Allie.”

She heard it wrong. “Provisionally-ally? What does that mean?”

I chuckled. “Provisionally Allison. I really, really need to know if they had a girl’s name picked out for me and what it was. I should honor their wishes, unless it’s Hortense or something.”

“Clementine! Delilah! Bernardine!”

“Hey, that’s an old movie! Mom and I watched it. Kind of silly and sweet.”

The subject was closed; I was Allison until further notice.

Chapter 4: Zombie?

I took off the gold halter top and sat on the bed as Taylor tossed me the green top that I’d started with.

“Good all-purpose top and you look great in it. Um … you want the jeans?”

I blushed slightly. “Could I … could I keep the skirt on instead?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you want, Allie. Monica’s already seen you in that skirt.”

“She saw me dressed as Mark before.”

“Yeah, but it didn’t register; she didn’t speak to you until just now. Very limited resources,” she pointed to her head, laughing. “Filled with ‘Brad, shoes, Brad, makeup, gossip, Brad, and Brad’.”

“Come on; she’s cooler than that!”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she pretended to grumble. “Anyway, she did offer ice cream.”

“Yeah, that’s cool. But you said I didn’t register the first time she was here–but she said ‘you girls’ and that’s when you got all crazy.”

She splayed her fingers across her upper chest. “Crazy? Moi? Mais non, ma cherie–and notice I’m using the feminine!”

“Two years of French and she’s ready to move to Paris,” I explained to the ceiling.

“And I realized that you were sort of behind the couch. I mean, from Monica’s view down in the den; all she could see was your head and shoulders.”

“My face and my hair,” I nodded, knowing how feminine I looked. “Okay. I’m convinced. So … now what?”

“Well, since there’s no prom tonight, and it’s too late to book a salon reservation for a mani-pedi, I guess we’ll just have to do what all girls do. Hang out.”

“Oh, God! Not that!” I put my arms over my face theatrically.

“Well, there is one thing …”

Even if I hadn’t seen the devilish grin, I could hear the tone. I took my arms down. “Is it going to hurt, cost much, or break any laws?”

“Definitely, thousands, and nope.”

I flopped on the bed, keeping my knees together. “What the heck?”

She pointed to me. “Gotta learn to flip the back of the skirt forward when you sit. Um … oh, yeah. A makeover!”

“A makeover … definitely hurt?”

She leered. “Only your male pride! And all the makeup you’ll buy over the years will cost you thousands of dollars, and it’s not against the law. Maybe the school Dress Code, but that’s a worry for another day.”

I was stunned. “Um … Taylor … you’re making this sound like more than a one-time thing.”

She nodded. “Yep. It is. I know it even if you don’t right now.”

“I’m just … humoring you,” I said lamely.

“You just think you are, because it was the only way Mark would let us meet Allison. It’s that simple.”

“It’s that simple?” I repeated.

She nodded. “That simple. You’re a girl. You were meant to be a girl. You are a girl, where it counts most, in your heart and in your mind and in your soul. It’s only … between your legs that says you aren’t a girl, and it’s only boys that are concerned about what’s between a girl’s legs, anyway.”

“That’s kind of … true,” I giggled. “Rude–but true.”

She laughed. “And what’s under their sweaters! But you …” She shrugged and gave me a look full of warmth. “You’re Allison, a girl and my best friend.” Then the wicked grin. “So deal with it!” She held up a hand. “I know; I know. You might not be Allison when you find out what you would have been named at birth, but find out soon so we can move on.”

“Move on …”

She faced me, all traces of humor gone. “This is serious. This is your life we’re talking about. Don’t do it now because I don’t want to bum out the night, but when you get home, think about your day-to-day life as Mark, and think about what Mark’s life would be like through the years. What will be expected of him and what he might be like. What he would do, what he would be. Okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded. “But–”

Up went the hand again. “Then think about your life as Allison–or whatever girl’s name you have–on a day-to-day basis. I don’t mean how weird it would be to go to school as Mark one day and Allison the next. I mean, you know … after the dust has settled. Or in a different school, although I’d hate for you to move. But think about how you’d be as a girl in school. And think about Allison’s future; what she might do for herself and her family. Think about Mark and Allison, and then we’ll talk.”

“Then we’ll talk?” I tried to lighten the mood.

She nodded. “Then we’ll talk all heavy. But not tonight. Tonight is Tay and Allie, hanging out. So, on the bench with you.” She gestured to the vanity bench.

Dutifully, I obeyed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, miss, thank you very much,” she sniffed.

She brushed my hair back and then pulled out huge alligator clips to pull it back from my face. She studied my face for a time and then began daubing and brushing and painting and doing all sorts of things, instructing as she went.

“Okay, the foundation goes on like this and my God you’ve got skin to die for! Why have I never noticed your pores before? They’re perfect! I hate you! Eyeshadow … mascara–watch for clumps–little rouge like this, great cheekbones … and … lips … hate you even more …” and on and on.

She’d been blocking my view of the mirror, working on me. She stepped back and I stared at the pretty girl in the mirror. Even though it felt like she’d been putting tons of stuff on my face, it was fairly light and natural, with smoky tones at my eyes and a wine-colored lipstick defining my lips. She stared, tilting her head slightly.

“I could do your lips differently, and it might be fun to go heavy on the eyeliner, but what do you think?” She adopted a caveman tone. “Allie pretty?”

I nodded. “Allie pretty. God, I can’t …” The lump was back in my throat. “I don’t know what’s happening to me …”

“You’re meeting you. The Mark mask is gone. The pretty girl is here, now. And she’s not going to go away. Um … let me try something.”

She fooled around with my hair. I usually parted it down the middle and held it back with a leather band low on my neck, like the long-haired rocker guys at school. Taylor pulled all of my hair to the crown of my head and held it like a ponytail.

Like a doctor advising a patient, she said, “Your hair isn’t long enough in back to put it on the tippy-top of your head. That’s okay with me, because it always reminds me of a handle. In another month or two the wisps in back will be long enough that you can do that. Right now, though, you can probably do a very nice ponytail back here, where most girls wear it.” She brushed the hair to the back of my crown. “It’s long enough that you won’t have any flyaway strands. Pigtails …” She pulled it out in two clumps on the sides. “Naw. Not you. When you were six, maybe. But here’s a couple of things I really want to try.”

She brushed my hair out and straight back, rummaged in a vanity drawer and found a white ribbon which she tied behind my neck and over the top of my head. It was a cute, undeniably girlish look, but she shook her head.

“Naw. A little too Alice-in-Wonderland. Okay.”

“Allison Wonderland?” I teased.

She just rolled her eyes and ignored me–I figured she was miffed that she hadn’t thought of it. Next she removed the ribbon, brushed, and this time she brushed it from the side, across my forehead, and attached a barrette on the other side.

“Very cool,” she approved, nodding.

I had to agree. I looked at myself from side to side, marveling at the difference the new style made to my face. I had to reassess my face; the old familiar Mark-face–even the one under the makeup–was gone and in its place was a pretty girl who looked rather similar to Avril Lavigne, without the punk or Goth or whatever her raccoon eyes were.

Taylor snapped her fingers. “Hey, you know who you look like?”

“Yeah, yeah; Avril. I see it, too.”

Changing the words to ‘Sk8tr Boi’, Taylor danced and sang, “He was a boy, now she’s a girl, could I make it any more obvious!”

To my surprise, she grabbed my hand. “Come on, Allie! Dance with me!”

Embarrassed at first, then getting into it, I joined her in a hopping, teen-girl dance, bouncing around her room as we riffed on Avril’s song. We stopped suddenly at the knocking of the door. Monica stuck her head in again.

“I thought you liked Ramses, and you’re doing teeny-bopper?”

“Mon! Doesn’t she look like Avril Lavigne with her hair like this?” Taylor presented me with both hands.

It was the first time I’d heard the feminine pronouns applied to me, and I got a strange shiver.

It was also the first time I faced her sister directly, head-on, dressed as a girl, and not obscured behind a couch or tangled up in a top.

Monica didn’t see the shiver; she looked at me and nodded. “Kinda. I mean, with straight blonde hair, how can you not look like Avril? But, yeah …” She looked startled. “I’m sorry; I don’t know your name. Somebody failed her social obligations,” she said, pretending to glare at her sister.

Taylor casually tossed back. “She’s Allison. But doesn’t she look cute?”

Monica nodded. “Yes, she’s very pretty. And Avril is much prettier without all that eyeliner. I saw her in a fashion spread somewhere and she was absolutely stunning.”

I took a chance. “I saw her in a bikini, you know? Just wandering around the beach with sunglasses?” I used the rising inflection that girls did.

Monica didn’t react like she’d heard a boy. Instead, she nodded vigorously. “I know the pictures you mean! The light blue one? I thought, so that’s what you’ve been hiding under that t-shirt!” She chuckled.

“I know!” I laughed with her. “But I never thought …”

“Allie just parts her hair down the middle at school. Very boring,” she looked at me and rolled her eyes, like we two girls had been having this discussion for years.

“Hey, it’s easy to manage,” Monica shrugged. “So, do you guys want ice cream?”

“We told you before, yeah,” Taylor said. “I think there’s some Neapolitan left …”

Monica waved a hand. “Forget that. I meant Baskin-Robbins. Come on; ten minutes.” She withdrew her head and closed the door.

I looked at Taylor, terrified. “Tay … I can’t …”

She nodded. “Yes, you can. And you will. Look, it’s just ice cream. Brad and Mon will make goo-goo eyes at each other, we’ll get some Gold Medal Ribbon Chocolate and then we’re back home. But first …”

Taylor flew into action while I stood there, stunned. First she went to her closet and tossed me two black flats to try on. Zombie-like, I did; they were tight. She made a face and waved her hand; I removed the shoes and tossed them back as two more came flying at me, brown with rounded toes and buckles. They fit quite nicely, actually. I was admiring my feet when she pulled me to her vanity again. She threw open a nail kit and then a bottle of a dark wine nail polish that matched my lipstick.

Matched my lipstick … ? My fuzzy brain struggled to process that.

She quickly but expertly did one hand and stuck it under a UV dryer as she worked on the second one. She put her kit away and turned back to me and told me to close my eyes. Without questioning I did it and she sprayed my neck and wrists with some cologne. She checked my nails, switched my hands in the UV gadget, and then went to her closet. I couldn’t turn around very well with my hand in the gadget so I watched in the mirror as she did more rummaging and pulled out a purse and began tossing things into it. Finally, she grabbed a gray hoodie and came back to check my nails. She nodded and told me to stand.

I stood and she pulled me over to her dresser and rummaged around in the jewelry box. She handed me two rings to try for size; I tried a couple of fingers and they fit, while she faced me and attached a necklace, spinning it into place. She turned back to her jewelry box and pulled out several bracelets, shaped her hands and I imitated that as she slid them in place.

I held my hand up, to let the bracelets fall into place, but was jarred by how pretty my nail polish was. I would have admired them further but she had me slide the purse strap over my shoulder, fold the hoodie over the purse, and then grabbed her own purse and hoodie.

“Let’s go, Allie!” she said, linking my arm and half-dragging me downstairs.

Chapter 5: Ice Cream

The strangeness I’d felt in these clothes upstairs was nothing compared to what it was like to face Monica and Brad in them–and to try to appear perfectly casual and normal.

“Come on, Allie,” Taylor said. “Gotta formally introduce you.” She sneered playfully at her sister. “This is Monica, my sister whom you’ve met twice tonight but somehow I’m the one that was not polite. And that’s Brad, her boyfriend and a nice guy even though he dates my sister. Guys, Allison. Allie, guys.”

We all kind of went ‘hi’ or ‘hey’ to each other and that was that. I was Allie, a girl, one of Taylor’s friends. It was as simple as that! We went out and piled into Brad’s car, a purple PT Cruiser. I couldn’t decide if his car was ultra nerdy or ultra cool, but he was nice and it didn’t smell of cigarettes like some guy’s cars and off we went to get ice cream–

–at the mall!

As Brad was parking, I was getting nervous and kind of grabbed Taylor’s hand. She raised an eyebrow. “Baskin-Robbins. Don’t you ever go here?”

“No! We usually go to the one by the library; I thought that was the one you meant,” I nearly growled. It was a stand-alone store; you got your ice cream and you went home. I vaguely remembered there was a Baskin-Robbins at the mall, but it didn’t matter. Ice cream wasn’t the issue; Mark in public in girl’s clothing was.

“Relax,” Taylor said under her breath. Louder, she said, “So, Mon … are you treating?”

“Why should I … ? Oh, yeah, I guess I did invite you.”

We got out of the car and walked into the ice cream shop.

“That’s okay, Monica,” I said, trying to sound feminine. “You don’t have to pay for mine.”

“Thanks, Allison. At last! Taylor’s got a friend with manners!” she said to the ceiling. “Seriously, I’ll spring for it, as long as you don’t go nuts.”

“Double Gold Medal Ribbon with a waffle cone,” Taylor said, daring her sister to deny it.

I saw Monica glare until I softly said, “Just a single scoop of Cherries Jubilee; in a cup, please.”

“I like her,” Monica nodded to me while still locking eyes with Taylor. “She can hang with us anytime.”

We got our ice cream and there was a moment when it became apparent that Brad and Monica wanted to separate from us. Monica tossed her hair back to lick her cone.

“So, what. An hour? Back here?”

“Sure. See ya,” Taylor said to the already-leaving couple. Turning to me, she wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. “So, worked pretty well, didn’t it?”

“What did?”

“I was greedy about the ice cream on purpose; it took the pressure off you and now Monica loves your ass. Did you hear her? ‘You can hang with us anytime’. Gah … don’t believe her; she was just trying to razz me. But, hey, we got free ice cream and a trip to the mall.”

“Yeah,” I said with gritted teeth. “The mall. The mall.” I got closer and hissed so only she could hear. “And I’m in a skirt and makeup! At the mall!”

She raised her eyebrows. “So? What else would Allison Chambers wear on a Friday night at the mall? Come on, Allie; stop freaking out. Consider it an undercover assignment, or an anthropological expedition, or whatever. Just relax and be the girl that was dancing in my bedroom–the girl that is you, by the way–and let’s do the mall.”

She actually meant, ‘Let’s do Claire’s’. It must be in every mall in America, or its sister store Icing. It’s where you go to get your ears pierced, choose new earrings and bracelets and rings and accessories–if you’re a girl. So Taylor was actually pretty smart, because I had to sink or swim … so I swam, meaning that I just became another teen girl like Taylor. We tried things on, held things up to our ears or necks, giggled, and flittered from section to section.

A very strange thing was happening. At some point–I didn’t know exactly when–I wasn’t pretending to be a girl anymore. I wasn’t trying to be anything. I was just me, having fun with my bud Taylor. There was a strange sense of being relaxed, of zero stress or effort, that confused me. I put it behind me to think about later, and just enjoyed my time with Taylor.

We left Claire’s with only a few trinkets–Taylor really, really wanted me to get my ears pierced, even though she fully understood why I couldn’t, and we’d need a parental consent anyway–and went to a boutique, where she would hold up tops to herself, get my opinion, hold them up to me, and finally pulled a skirt and handed it to me with one hand and shoved me into a fitting room with the other hand.

I was calmer than I should have been, probably, because I mentally shrugged, figuring, ‘Well, I’m here; might as well try the darned thing on’. It was a textured black gauzy material, with what I learned was called a dagged hem. Taylor also called it a kerchief hem, but I think that was her own term. It was much longer than my denim skirt, hanging down to my shins, but I liked it. Something about it resonated with me. I came out to show Taylor, who nodded vigorously.

“God, Allie, you look great! Turn around.”

I spun in place and experienced the full flutter of the skirt around my legs. It was wonderful.

She nodded again. “I could never wear that look; I’m too dumpy. But you’ve got the figure for it–and killer legs. But you need heels!”

The thought flashed through my mind of ‘Heels, yeah, black with a … ’ and I had this mental crash where one part of my brain screamed, ‘But you’re a boy!’ and the other part screamed, ‘It would be so delicious to wear heels with this skirt and go someplace fancy!’ and then my brain hung up on the word ‘delicious’–had I actually thought that?–and it was too much overload; I actually shook. I simply nodded to Taylor’s compliments and went to change.

We had to head back to Baskin-Robbins to meet Monica and Brad, and I was kind of quiet. Taylor asked if she’d done something to piss me off; if so, she was sorry.

“No, it’s not that, Tay … you’ve been great–more than great,” I shrugged. “It’s me. I’m freaking.” I told her about my mental crash, or hang up, or whatever it was.

She nodded. Very reasonably, she said, “You’re going to get that all the time now, until you can finally start living as a girl.”

“What makes you think I’m going to start living as a girl?” I asked, seriously.

“That.” She stopped me and pointed to our right. There was a pillar between windows of a luggage store, and in the mirror was a pretty blonde girl in a green top and denim skirt, good legs, and her shorter, darker friend pointing. Of course, the girl was me.

“Taylor …” I began.

“Look, I’m kind of a Pandora here,” she shrugged. “I don’t believe we’re going to get the genie back in the bottle. Was that Pandora? Wait …”

“The box,” I sighed.

“Right. Well, we’re not going to get her back into his box. Or bottle; whatever. The moment Monica called you a girl–that second–I realized that your life was going to change. Had to change. And the sooner the better.”

“So you’re in charge of my life, now?” I said, trying to keep any anger out of my voice.

“Kind of,” she said, nodding and oblivious to my resentment. “It’s like when you save a life, you’re responsible for that person for the rest of their life.”

“I never understood that. It always seemed like the guy that got rescued should be responsible …”

“Well, I don’t make the rules. That’s just how it is. Face it, Allie; you’re a girl and you’ve always been a girl, but you didn’t know it. I think because you were so busy trying to be the next jock dude in the family. But I also think your mom suspects that you’re her daughter. Otherwise she wouldn’t be teaching you all the Suzie Homemaker stuff she does.”

“Careful! Don’t mess with Suzie Homemaker!” I tried to lighten the mood, then sighed. “But you might be right.”

We’d arrived at Baskin-Robbins and found a little round table in their laughably-small patio. Taylor went and got two little cups of ice water and napkins to justify keeping the table, and we’d wait for her sister.

“I’m sorry,” Taylor said, surprising me. “I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. If you’re happy being a boy and you think you’ll be happy being a man, that’s your own life. We’ll just chalk up tonight as a lark and never talk about it again.”

“Um,” I said, eloquently, sipping the cold water. Something sort of snapped or crackled or popped in my head. It wasn’t brain freeze, it was … well, it was a decision.

“Tay, when we were fooling around in Claire’s … how did I seem?”

“Fine. I mean,” she shrugged, frowning. “Fine. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Did I seem … phony, or pretentious, or … campy or anything? Like I was trying to act like a girl?”

She frowned as she shook her head. “No. Just … you seemed like any other girl. You seemed like me. I’ve been in Claire’s hundreds of times with friends and it was … just like always. You didn’t seem fake or anything. Why? Did it feel phony?”

“No, that’s just it! It didn’t. I wasn’t Mark, I wasn’t a boy, I wasn’t trying to be Allison. I was just … well, I kind of ‘let go’ … let go of trying to be anything. And when I did that …”

“You were Allie,” she observed with a nod.

I nodded back. “Yeah. Did my–or do my–gestures seem natural, or like a put-on, or anything?” I had my hand up as I spoke.

She shook her head again. “Nope. Just like anybody else’s … any other girl, I mean. And your voice … have you noticed that your voice sounds like a girl’s? I mean, the way it rises and falls, and the words you use, and everything … I can tell you that I know Mark’s voice, and tonight I haven’t heard Mark. Not once.”

I nodded again. “I know. And I’m kind of worried. It’s that damned Pandora’s genie thing of yours!”

She was laughing at that just as Monica and Brad came around the corner, saw us, and walked to the table.

Monica smiled at us. “Brad’s gonna get a coffee for the road. Have a good time?”

“Yeah. Did Claire’s and Wet Seal,” Taylor said off-handedly.

“Did you buy anything at Wet Seal? Because they’re having a sale next weekend.”

“No, but Allie found a killer skirt. Black with a kerchief hem–”

“I know that one!” Monica said, smiling. “I saw it last week. I’m not sure about it for me,” she said, turning to look at me and still smiling, “but with your coloring and your figure, Allie, I bet it looked great!”

“And her legs!” Taylor grinned at me.

“Um … thanks,” I smiled. “Yeah, but I didn’t get it. But thanks for telling me about the sale. Maybe I can convince Mom next week …” I trailed off, my mouth still open.

Brad was at the counter talking with my brother Jake and his girlfriend Ashley, and pointing to Monica and us at the table!

I froze, time stood still … all the usual clichés applied. The guys were busy talking, but Ashley squeezed Jake’s arm and came over to us.

“Hey, Monica,” she smiled.

I’d always liked Ashley, but right now I wanted the earth to swallow her up. Aliens to kidnap her. Or me.

“Hey, Ash,” Monica nodded. “Dude-speak?”

Ashley nodded, too. “And on and on about the Yankees. Or the Chargers. Or whoever.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “It’s gotten worse since Brad got ESPN sent to his cell phone.”

“Tell me about it!” Ashley tossed her hair as she sat. “Last night, we were snuggling, and I realized he was reading scores on his phone over my shoulder! Another girl I could fight, but not ESPN! Hi, I’m Ashley,” she smiled at us.

I desperately wished for invisibility.

Taylor casually said, “Oh, I’m her sister Taylor and this is my friend Allison.”

“Hi,” Ashley nodded and smiled to each of us.

Was it my imagination or did she linger just a moment longer on me before turning back to Monica? And what was the first thing out of Monica’s mouth?

“Hey, remember that black skirt at Wet Seal? Allie wants to get it.”

“That’s a cool skirt,” Ashley said, turning to me. “I bet it’d look great with your coloring.”

Could I rewind the last ten minutes of my life and sit somewhere else? Or not have tried on that damn skirt? Or changed my coloring? Instead, I nodded and realized that I had to say something. Keeping my voice as un-Mark as possible, I said, “Gotta check with Mom first.”

“Oh, I know that,” Ashley said, making a face. Turning back to Monica she said, “You’d think I flatlined every card she ever gave me! Now I’ve gotta check the balance and report to her before I get anything. Honestly!”

Monica nodded in sympathy and Taylor turned to her sister. “Hey, Mon, are you guys going to be here long? I wanna show Allie something at Barnes & Noble.”

“No buying, and like … ten minutes, okay? Keep your phone on,” Monica said and turned to Ashley. “Did you hear about Jen Stuart and Greg?”

They were off in gossip-land while Taylor and I got up. I was painfully conscious of Ashley watching me walk, and tried to be as naturally girly as I could. That is, I assumed Ashley was watching; I was too paranoid to check and most likely she and Monica were just gossiping away.

“God, I can’t believe that!” Taylor said. “I had to get you away!”

“I know; thanks. I was dying there,” I said, sighing with relief once we were around the corner.

“Seriously, though? You pulled it off. You were just my BFF Allie and no worries.”

“Is that … Am I your BFF, Taylor? ‘Cause I know it means a lot.”

“I thought about it when we were in Claire’s. Yeah, you’re my BFF. Um … if you wanna be …” she added, shy for the first time.

“Of course! Omigod, I’m flattered and … yeah, I’m your BFF, and you’re mine.”

“Really? Aw, that’s so sweet!” She gave me a sunny smile and turned and hugged me. I hugged back. Taylor gave me a tight squeeze and let go. “Cool. Now, we just hang out until Monica and Brad are ready to leave.”

“What’s at Barnes & Noble?”

“Nothing. I just picked it because it’s close to the car. If I’d said ‘Abercrombie’, she’d think we’d be gone for another hour and would have said no.”

“Well, let’s just go there anyway. I just want to … get away. God, Jake and Ashley! Do you think she recognized me?”

“If she did, she’s a lot smarter than that blonde routine she gets away with. But she didn’t say or do anything, did she? So it’s either no, she didn’t, or yes, but she’s cool. I don’t think she’s going to say to her boyfriend, ‘Hey, Jake, why is your little brother so much cuter than me?’”

I was stunned and slapped her upper arm as we entered the bookstore.

She grinned and danced away. “Hey, Jake, why are your little brother’s legs so much sexier than mine?”

“Geez, Taylor! Shut up!” I squealed, like any teen girl.

She laughed and then nodded. “I was kidding.” She paused. “No, I wasn’t! Hey, check it out,” she said quickly and held up a magazine. “Can’t believe people are still into the Jonas Brothers. Any of ‘em.”

“Do you really think I’m cuter?” I whispered.

She stifled a laugh. “God, you are such a girl!” She looked around and held the magazine up so it looked like we were both looking at it. “But, truthfully? I think you will be. There’s, what … four years’ difference? So when you’re her age, I think, yeah, you’ll be cuter.”

I stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. That is,” she shrugged. “If you let things proceed … if you know what I mean.”

I knew what she meant. The question was, would I be allowed to let things proceed?

End of Part 2